The play. Lady Drusilla. Oh yes!
“It might be best if she selects one before she falls.” Elle frowned. “That way his accusation makes more sense… And then he—"
“—reads the title.”
“Yes!” Elle dipped her chin. “It’s a titillating book, and he mocks her—"
“—but not in a cruel way.” Mr. Dodd extrapolated on her idea, and it was Elle this time who moved to the desk to make notes. And as she visualized changes she’d have to make to other scenes, the threads in her story tightened.
“What if the Earl possesses a second copy—and throughout the play makes references to grow their connection.”
How had she missed this before?
And yet it would work—enhance the connection between her hero and heroine.
“He flirts with her, sarcastically,” Mr. Dodd added. “Our hero is an earl after all—must retain some elements of an arrogant prick.”
The coarse language had Elle snapping her head around to meet his gaze. She blinked a few times and then burst out laughing. Never, in all her life, had anyone spoken thusly around her.
But she liked this—being included—being part of something bigger than herself.
Mr. Dodd’s lips curved up ever so slightly and her heart skipped a beat.
Because although he could be gruff when he was distracted, despite his refusal to make polite conversation and also his bouts of deliberate arrogance, for reasons she didn’t understand… Elle liked him.
Elle liked Mr. Dodd.
Off Limits
Carter was in trouble.
Big trouble.
Although he’d wanted to get right to work on Lady of the Scullery, he’d avoided spending time alone with his far-too-lovely playwright for over a full week. And when he did finally open up the manuscript, he’d damn near made a fool of himself while blocking out a scene that required him to hold her from behind.
Although he didn’t normally address stage movement this early, the physical aspects between these two characters played a large part in moving the plot along and the subtle adjustment they’d addressed was vital. Working together, the two of them could take the play to a higher level—exactly as he’d imagined.
What he’d not imagined was how perfect she’d feel beneath his hands, how soft she’d feel against his chest, how her perfume would invade his senses…
Or that her laughter could render him speechless. All the while he was acutely aware that Miss Sparrow—that his playwright—was off limits.
“Pudding wouldn’t be an earl if he didn’t occasionally show signs of his entitlement, would he?” Her laughter reached right into his chest.
Not in a good way, but in a way that left the back of his neck itching. He rubbed at the muscle and frowned. He should have known better than to swear off women. Doing so only made him want them more. In the past, he’d always given in to these desires eventually, and gone after whichever pretty thing had caught his eye with little in the way of self-restraint.
But not this one.
Miss Sparrow was not only his assistant, but his playwright! And this, more than anything, firmly relegated her to the off-limits category.
Aside from that, Mrs. Grey would never allow him to hear the end of it.
It didn’t matter that his hands itched to touch her again. This was his office. He was in charge. There was work to do and he couldn’t waste time trying not to flirt with his assistant.
“Jump to the fourth scene.” He turned serious again.
While she flipped through the manuscript, Carter returned to his seat. Unfortunately, where he normally would have rifled through his comforting mess, he instead found himself staring at the gleaming wood of his recently cleared desktop.
Another area of his life affected by his playwright.
